


What The Hell Is A Hufflepuff?

by noxlunate



Series: Southsiders at Hogwarts [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Anal Sex, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hufflepuff Mickey, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Content, Will add tags as I go, overuse of the word fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/noxlunate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that, that was how the Sorting Hat screamed “HUFFLEPUFF” after several minutes on Mickey’s head and cemented the rest of Mickey’s schooling life as one in yellow. </p><p>“What the FUCK?” </p><p>Five years later, he was still proving just how spectacularly a short-ass Puff could kick a person’s ass</p><p>Also Known As The Obligatory Hogwarts AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cause Everything, It Must Belong Somewhere

Mickey was a scrawny kid with dirt on his face, dressed in robes that had belonged to his brothers previously and were at least an inch too long in the legs and the arms, torn and patched and torn again from the abuse of being worn by four other’s before they’d reached Mickey. His dark hair stuck up oddly from where he’d slept with his head against the window on the train ride, and his arms were settled across his chest as he tried his best to appear uninterested in the entire room. His blue eyes though, they flitted everywhere around the Great Hall as his year mates were sorted. The Great Hall was huge and everyone was watching, clapping as students were sorted into their houses. It was a lot simpler than his brothers had made it out to be. Tony had remained silent but Jamie had said there’d be a _test_ , Iggy had insisted it’d be trolls, and Colin had said he’d have to fight a fuckin dragon, but no, it was just a hat. There wasn’t anything scary about a hat. 

At least, not until it was on Mickey’s head. The voice that whispered into Mickey’s ear startled him, the hat big enough that it fell over Mickey’s eyes and shielded him from the rest of the Hall. 

“Hmmm, another Milkovich I see.” The voice spoke into his ear, no his _mind_ and Mickey decided he wasn’t fond of it. Didn’t like the way it could probably comb through his thoughts and see everything that was inside. It left him unsettled and shifting in his seat. 

“You and your brothers are all a terror to sort, never know exactly where you want to go, never quite what you seem on the inside, are you? Hat stalls, the lot of you!” And the hat sounded cheerful, giddy even. Could a hat be giddy? Fuck if Mickey knew. 

“You’ve got brains in you, you do, though not particularly Ravenclaw material. I doubt you’d feel at home in the blue house. Bravery though, oh you’ve got plenty at that.” The hat said, and laughed at Mickey’s disbelieving snort. “Oh don’t believe me, do you? I can see into your head _Mykola_ , I can see all the courage buried in there. You’d fight even your father if given a good reason.” The words earned another snort, because Mickey couldn’t imagine going against his father. He’d never met someone more terrifying, and the man didn’t even have magic. He and his siblings were just lucky they’d inherited their Mother’s magic and got to get away from him for nine months at a time. He only felt bad that Mandy had to suffer another year of it before she got to join them. 

“I can’t see you finding your fit in Gryffindor though. I have a feeling you’d cause a bit of a kerfuffle with those of the red and gold. What about Slytherin? I think you’d feel most at home there, to be honest. You’ve got the cunning, and the attitude. Oh dear, do you have the attitude. No, no, I don’t think that’s right though. Hm, I suppose it’ll have to be, and I really do think this is the best choice, really do think you’ll fit there best…”

And that, that was how the Sorting Hat screamed “HUFFLEPUFF” after several minutes on Mickey’s head and cemented the rest of Mickey’s schooling life as one in yellow. 

_“What the FUCK?”_

 

Five years later, he was still proving just how spectacularly a short-ass Puff could kick a person’s ass. His knuckles hurt from punching the smarmy Slytherin in the face, an overly tall blonde who had been leering at his sister, his wand hidden under the table in the library working artfully to raise her skirt in the back as she was grabbing books. Mandy might not be opposed to it, but no one fucked with Mickey’s little sister and got away with it.

“Fuckin a, Mick, what the fuck?” He sister demanded, dragging him by the elbow out of the library to the call of “DETENTION MILKOVICH” from the librarian. They didn’t have to ask which one it was for, Mickey hadn’t exactly checked to see if the librarian was near before he’d assaulted the Slytherin. 

“He was a dick.” Mickey said with a shrug, like it explained everything, and Mandy rolled her eyes at her older brother. 

“You can’t just beat the shit out of my housemates.” She said, and when Mickey didn’t reply other than to dig into his pockets to find a cigarette she rolled her eyes. She was kind of scarily good at it, and Mickey wondered how she hadn’t strained her eyeballs or some shit with how often she did it. “Whatever, I’ve got practice. Prepare for us to kick your asses this weekend.” She said, flouncing off after she grinned at him wickedly in a way that Mickey knew meant she would be sending bludgers specifically his way in the upcoming game. Family didn’t mean shit when it came to quidditch, apparently. 

“Yeah, yeah, later bitch.” He said to her retreating back, leaning against the stone wall to finish his smoke. 

 

Hufflepuff wasn’t so bad, honestly. Their image had improved a little after the war, after a lot of the heroes had been from their own house. They were still deemed the weak ones by a lot of people, the ones that didn’t fit into the other three because they were too soft, or too weird, or not smart enough, but it wasn’t the worst house one could be sorted into. (sometimes it felt like it was, but Mickey had a direct access to the kitchens and a group of Puffs grew their own weed, and honestly, who could complain about endless food and free marijuana? Not Mickey, that was for damned sure) 

Mickey didn’t fit in, per say, but he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb either. He flew under the radar unless it was the weekend of a game, because for all their apparent amicableness Hufflepuffs could take Quidditch to the level of any other house, possibly higher. They made banners, and showed up in masse for their housemates when they played. The favorite topic seemed to be the Milkoviches, opposing beaters who spent almost as much time sending bludgers at each other as they did using them to try and mess up the other team. Bat in hand, hurling objects at other people’s heads was when Mickey felt most like he did when he was at home. It wasn’t a bad feeling. 

Once the games were over though, Mickey didn’t get much attention. He liked it that way. He liked having only a few people he hung out with sometimes and he liked being by himself a lot of the time. He liked being by himself more than most things actually. The problem was some people didn’t get that. The problem was that most of all, Ian Fucking Gallagher didn’t seem to understand the concept of alone time. The Slytherin would settle into Mickey’s space like he belonged there, and really, he didn’t. He really fucking didn’t. (Mickey’s leg would press against Ian’s sometimes when they sat next to the lake, but if anyone ever brought it up he’d deny it until he was blue in the face) 

It was the second time he’d done it in as many days and Mickey tilted his head to look at him, his eyes barely leaving the pages of his book as he let out a quiet, measured _“What now?”_

Ian shrugged his broad shoulders and Mickey made sure to think disparaging thoughts about how they were too wide and made him look like a bull in a china shop. “Nothing.” He said, but Mickey knew there was more than that. There was always more than that. Mickey had known Ian Gallagher couldn’t fuckin shut up since Mandy had joined him at school, Ian pressed to her side like they were the best of friends when they’d only known each other for the duration of the train ride. 

“Bullshit, you always talk.” He muttered, dropping his focus back down to his book. He expected more conversation but when he looked back over at Ian he was stubbornly quiet, head turned down as he fidgeted with his robes. “What’s wrong man? I figured I’d get a part four of yours and Mandy’s ongoing common room war or something. God knows you don’t ever shut up.” He said, pretty sure he was proving that he actually paid attention to Ian’s chattering but he was unnerved by the quiet. 

“I do too shut up.” Ian insisted. 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.” 

“Do not- Wait, I’m not doing this. What’s wrong?” He said, and Ian’s head was still down but there was this fond looking smile on his face that made Mickey’s stomach twist something awful, uncomfortable and proud of himself all at once. It was terrible. 

“Nothin’. Just, tired of getting shit I guess.” 

Mickey hummed a sort of understanding noise. Gallagher’s weren’t exactly prestigious around Hogwarts. They were pureblood, but dirt poor, and everyone knew Frank was a raging alcoholic and Monica was a fucking psycho. Mickey could remember being warned as a first year, an older girl in his house telling him that ‘I know you grew up muggle so you don’t know, but Gallagher’s are trouble.’ There’d been something about their Dad setting the library on fire, and the eldest, Fiona, dropping out as soon as she’d turned 17 to raise the others, but he’d learned all the real details once Ian and Mandy had fallen in together. 

“Just ignore ‘em man. You’ll never get anyone to think any differently than they do, y’know? It doesn’t matter what they think. It only matters what the people you actually give a shit about think. So, fuck ‘em.” 

Ian’s face was doing that thing again. The thing where he looked fond, and like Mickey had answered a question correctly that he hadn’t even known was asked. He knocked his foot into Mickey’s and Mickey rolled his eyes at him. 

“Stop looking at me like that asshole.” 

Ian’s smile just got bigger. 

 

Mickey wasn’t entirely sure how they’d ended up like this, to be honest.

Hufflepuff had smashed Slytherin in the Quidditch game somehow, despite the fact that Mickey had earned them two penalties. In his defense, two was four less than what he’d earned them in their last game. Still, it was a win, and the whole of Hufflepuff house was ecstatic. Mickey though, Mickey just wanted a fucking shower. Mandy had “accidentally” smacked her broom into his face when she’d realized Hufflepuff was winning, and he still had blood on his face, and he was way too sweaty to feel like existing. He needed to be clean for christ’s sakes, so he’d told his teammates to go on ahead to the common room party without him. He was pretty sure no one would notice he was missing, and he didn’t really give a fuck if they did so he was damn well going to take his time. 

How he’d gone from showering, to being pressed against a wall with Ian Gallagher’s dick in his hand though, that, he wasn’t sure he’d ever figure out. 

(It probably had something to do with the ways Ian’s eyes had gone dark when he’d come into the locker room to the sight of Mickey with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The way Mickey had raised his eyebrows, practically daring Ian to do something. The way Ian had decided to take that dare and shoved Mickey against the wall, hand sliding beneath the towel and Mickey had arched into it. But no, Mickey had no idea how it’d happened. No clue.) 

“Fuck, you’re hot like this.” Ian said, words spoken into the curve of Mickey’s neck as his hand slid over Mickey’s cock. 

Mickey’s response was to tighten his grip, thumbing over the tip to drag a moan out of Ian. “Don’t fuckin say shit like that man, it’s too fuckin gay.” And Ian laughed. He fucking _laughed_. 

“We’ve got each other’s dicks in our hands man, you can’t no homo your way out of this one.” He said, and then he bit into the skin at the base of Mickey’s throat, causing him to arch up into it, bring the fist not wrapped around Ian to his mouth to muffle his moan. 

“Can too. An orgasm’s a fuckin- fuck, shit, just like that.” He gasped as Ian’s hand sped up and Mickey’s lost any sort of rhythm as he got closer and closer. He rutted up into it, fucking into Ian’s hand as he came. 

His hand had stilled and Ian thrust into it pointedly after Mickey seemed to have come down from his orgasm, a silent request to get back to it instead of standing there like an idiot with his hand on Ian’s dick. Mickey was half tempted to walk away now that he’d gotten his, but he was nothing if not a reciprocator so he moved his hand again, stroking over Ian’s dick, thumbing the tip and tracing back down along the vein on the underside. 

It was a decent dick, Mickey couldn’t help but notice. Big as hell, and would probably feel great in his ass. But they weren’t doing that here. Post victory hand jobs were all well and good, but Mickey wasn’t fucking Ian fucking Gallagher. The kid was too soft, he’d get attached to Mickey. (Mickey would get attached, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and that’d just be fucking awful wouldn’t it?) 

Ian threw his head back when he came, lip caught between his teeth and fuck if it wasn’t gorgeous, fuck if Mickey couldn’t notice how beautiful this kid was when Mickey had managed to make him shake apart under his hand. He didn’t give himself time to dwell on it though, throwing his clothes back on and leaving the locker room before Ian could get a word in edgewise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published fanfic since oh, I dunno, 2007 probably, and I'm not 100% sure where it's going quite yet so go easy on me????


	2. Mickey Milkovich: Study Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do I look like a fuckin tutor to you?” Mickey asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief and a little bit of a dare for Ian to say yes so that he could bitch at him for it. 
> 
> “Nah, but you do look like someone who’s getting an O in Potions when I’m getting a P.”
> 
> \------
> 
> Or the one where Mickey's a nerdy, grumpy old man who's good at potions and Ian makes him help him out. Also library shenanigans ensue, and by shenanigans I mean porn.

Mickey liked the library. It was quiet for one thing. And he really did like reading, even if there’d never been much of a place for it at home growing up. His Dad had been pretty adamant that reading wasn’t gonna get his sons in life, that the good Lord hadn’t given them a full brain between the five of them. Mickey thought that was kind of hysterical considering Iggy had gone Ravenclaw and Mickey was actually passing all his classes. (He was actually excelling in some of them, was pulling Os in Herbology and Potions. Sometimes he thought his Mom would be proud, if she’d lived long enough to see him go to Hogwarts like she had.)

The point was though, that he liked the library. It was a safe place. He spent a good portion of his nights that he wasn’t getting into some sort of trouble in one of the comfy chairs there, doing his homework or studying for the upcoming OWLs. It was a quiet place. No one bothered him, and he didn’t have to make conversation. At least until, like with most things, Ian Gallagher had to go fucking it all up and Mickey had to go not minding it as much as he should. The kid was like the dog who chewed his slippers up but Mickey couldn’t punish because of their big puppy eyes. It was fucking ridiculous. He was starting to go soft in his old age. (He was only 15, but sometimes Mickey felt like he’d lived a thousand years before this life. That the first 11 years with his Dad, without Hogwarts, with the beatings and crime and the uncertainty, that they’d aged him until he was an old man.) 

Ian slipped into the chair next to Mickey, ignoring the older boy’s glare and attempt to telepathically convey _‘leave me the fuck alone’_ with an ease that was kind of impressive. The redhead settled comfortably in the chair, gangly limbs sprawled and Mickey did his best to think disparaging thoughts but it was an effort made difficult by the fact that when he looked at Ian lately, half the time he’d think about what the asshole’s dick felt like in his hand. 

“What?” Mickey finally asked, sounding exasperated. 

“I need your help with my Potions homework.” Ian said, shrugging like it was an entirely reasonable request. Or really, demand, Mickey figured, because Ian hadn’t really phrased it as a question, was looking at Mickey like he fully expected the older boy to help. 

“Do I look like a fuckin tutor to you?” Mickey asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief and a little bit of a dare for Ian to say yes so that he could bitch at him for it. 

“Nah, but you do look like someone who’s getting an O in Potions when I’m getting a P.” Ian said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and dammit, why did Mandy have to pull the being proud and letting people know Mickey actually had a brain in his head bullshit? Well, it wasn’t technically that. It was more than she’d called Mickey a giant nerd and let everyone know he was fantastic at potions one day, but underneath it there was pride, Mickey could tell.

“So? Maybe you should fuckin study instead of expecting someone to help then. Not my fault you can’t make potions for shit.” And fuck, there was The Chin. Ian’s eyes had narrowed and his chin was jutting up and out like he was preparing for some sort of fight and jesus fucking christ, Mickey huffed out a noise. “Alright, alright. I’ll fuckin help you out. Just stop with the chin, man. It’s overkill.” 

Ian seemed to brighten up just like that, muscles going from taunt and restless to loose and relaxed all at once as he beamed. “Awesome.” He said as he got into his bag, pulling out a potions textbook and some scrolls and Mickey was going to get whiplash from the rapid change of Gallagher emotions.

Mickey snagged the book and scrolls of parchment out of Ian’s hands without asking, unraveling the scroll to read over the assignment and then glancing at the cover of the book. “First of all, you don’t even have the right book.” 

“It’s the assigned text for the class!” 

“Yeah, and it’s a fuckin shitty ass book that doesn’t have all the information your dumb ass is gonna need.” As he spoke he was pushing his way out of his chair so that he could grab onto Ian’s arm and drag him into the potions section of the library. Ian, Mickey thought, looked a lot less insulted, and a lot more pleased with how this was going than he should. 

 

A week later Mickey’s book was being grabbed from him and tossed onto a table before it was replaced by a heavy ass ginger. Mickey shoved at him, but it wasn’t hard enough to get Ian’s stubborn ass to move out of Mickey’s lap as Ian grinned at him. 

“I got a fuckin A.” He said, sounding a little breathless and so proud of himself for it that Mickey couldn’t help the slight curve of his mouth. He was a damn good tutor when he wanted to be, okay? At least half of Ian’s passing grade was because of him, Mickey was convinced. 

Still, he raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat to look up at Ian. “That’s only one grade above what you were getting. It’s barely passing Firecrotch.” He said, and Ian just stared at him for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to be insulted or not. He seemed to decide against it, because all at once he was leaning forward to bite at Mickey’s neck, his hands flying to work at the fly of Mickey’s trousers. 

_“What the fuck?”_ Mickey looked around wildly, making sure no one was there to see what was happening, but he’d picked the legal section of the library for a reason. No one went there, and it was empty. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be the first time someone at Hogwarts saw two dudes in a compromising position. (Mickey reminded himself that this wasn’t home, where he’d undoubtably get the shit kicked out of him for liking dick. Where he had to worry about Terry beating the faggot out of him.) The wizarding world was judgmental about a lot of things, but they seemed weirdly chill about the whole gay thing. 

“You got me an A, I think that deserves an orgasm.” The words were spoken against Mickey’s throat, slightly muffled, but god, Mickey could practically feel the grin against his skin, hear it in Ian’s voice and that was way hotter than it should be. It contributed a ridiculous amount to Mickey’s poor life choice to let Ian fucking Gallagher get him off in the library, surrounded by dusty old tomes filled with laws no one, not even the government, seemed to give a fuck about anymore. 

“Yeah- Yeah, okay, it probably does. I mean, getting you to pass that shit was a-fuck-a fuckin miracle.” He said, stumbling over his words when Ian managed to get his hand into Mickey’s pants. He stroked once, twice over Mickey’s cock and then he was out of Mickey’s lap, dropping to the floor and under the table, dragging Mickey’s chair forward so that he was properly hidden from sight and then, fuck, his mouth was on Mickey’s dick. Mickey was about 99% sure Ian had to have gotten this idea from Karen Jackson’s exploits, because he’d heard this was a thing the psycho did, but that thought was chased from his mind when Ian did something with his tongue against the underside of Mickey’s dick that had his seeing stars. 

He bit back a moan, biting into his lip hard enough that he was amazed he didn’t taste blood and did his best to not thrust up into Ian’s mouth but god, it felt good. It was warm and wet and Ian was apparently an expert cock sucker, because he relaxed his throat and swallowed Mickey down, sucking hard enough that Mickey fucking _whined._

He whined and he arched his hips forward and Ian let out a sort of grumbling protesting noise around his cock as he planted his hands on Mickey’s hips and pressed them down, anchoring the Hufflepuff into his chair. Right, okay, apparently face fucking was not on the agenda today. Mickey could handle that. He pressed a fist to his mouth, his other hand twisting into Ian’s hair, tugging at the red strands and that, _that_ received a moan from the Slytherin that Mickey definitely took note of. 

Between the sound of Ian’s moans and the tight wet heat around his dick, Mickey wasn’t long for this world and he came with a warning to Ian, “Fuck- Fuck, gonna come.” The words coming out in a gasp as his face went slack, body arching with the force of his orgasm and Ian fucking swallowed it all down before emerging out from under the table, looking like the cat that had caught the canary. 

The ginger leaned in, like he was going to attempt a kiss and Mickey pushed him away reflexively, even relaxed and loose limbed from the orgasm. “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fuckin tongue out Gallagher.” He said, ignoring the small part of him that probably wouldn’t mind kissing Ian Gallagher. The small part was vastly overpowered by the part of him that was fucking _terrified_ , the part that couldn’t yet adjust to the fact that this world, this world with magic wasn’t his old one, even after almost 5 years of living in it. It wasn’t home, and wanting to make out with someone who had a dick wouldn’t get him killed. 

Ian didn’t seem offended in the least, just grinned at Mickey, bright as the fucking sun and settled into a chair. “Uh-huh, okay. I need you to quiz me on the properties of asphodel.” 

Mickey huffed, but ended up doing as Ian said. 

 

It continued on like that for awhile. Ian would corner Mickey for Mickey to help him study, Mickey would bitch that Ian’s got a genius older brother who could help him but end up helping anyway, and then when Ian passed whatever it was Mickey was helping him with he’d make sure to get Mickey off. It was weird, not the fooling around, because orgasms were awesome and even Mickey Milkovich couldn’t deny that, but no, the weird part was that Mickey was starting to look forward to the actual studying. 

Well, not the actual studying part of it all though Mickey couldn’t help but be kinda happy about the fact that he was apparently kinda smart when it came to certain subjects. Of course, he was going to know more than Ian, he was a year ahead of him, but it was more than that, Mickey was actually _good_ and it helped give the little part of him that sometimes said _‘Terry is wrong about you. This is not home.’_ a little more force. The part he was starting to look forward to though, that part was actually Ian himself. 

Ian with his red hair, and his freckles and his laugh. The way he brushed his knee against Mickey’s when he sat in the chair next to him, and how he slowly fucking inched himself into Mickey’s space the longer their study session went on. The way that even when they weren’t studying, he seemed to just be _around_. It was weird, and fucked up, and Mickey _liked it._

It was easy and comfortable and occasionally Mickey felt his heart speed up and his stomach flip and he felt every inch his 15 years instead of like the grumpy old man he usually seemed like. And he _liked it._

He was pretty sure how much he liked it was going to get him in trouble somehow. Mickey didn’t get nice, easy things like what was happening with Ian. He just didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, this story is apparently going to have a lot of porn? Yeah, that's a surprise to me since I don't tend to write the stuff. ALSO I really hope Mickey's not too terribly OOC. I'm trying to strike the balance of a Mickey who's still more than a little scarred by the shit his Dad's done but is also more or less free from the man for most of the year.
> 
> ALSO SERIOUSLY THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO'S LEFT KUDOS OR A COMMENT OR BOOKMARKED THIS!! It means more than anyone can know. I've literally just been smiling randomly thinking about it like ^____^ "PEOPLE KINDA LIKE MY STUFF"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey found himself at nearly midnight, bundled up in Slytherin common room, the place empty except for Mandy, Ian and himself. The two had dragged the Hufflepuff into their common room, claiming that he wasn’t allowed to be a socially awkward loser (Mandy’s words) on New Years Eve of all nights. Mickey had protested greatly, but in the end his sister’s stubbornness had prevailed and he was stuck there. 
> 
> It was creepy as hell. The entire room glowed fucking _green_ , like it wasn’t obvious enough from all the tapestries with Slytherins on them that yes, this was the Slytherin common room.

Mickey might have been a little bit shocked in his first year to be a Hufflepuff, but as a fifth year he was more than adjusted to it. He’d even venture so far as to say he liked it. There was a certain charm to Hufflepuff, and a certain advantage to being underestimated. No one ever expected a Hufflepuff to come back swinging when they made a snide comment, and no one expected the force that backed up Mickey’s fists when he did. 

He actually kinda loved it. 

He loved flying under the radar and getting away with shit. He loved the way that for the first two years, his professors never expected him to pull the shit he did, always blaming it on the Gryffindors or Slytherins instead (they’d long since learned, but he’d had two years nearly detention free due to the misconception that a Hufflepuff wouldn’t be an unholy terror) He loved the fact that jokes about Hufflepuff being the house of “Puff, Puff, Pass” were actually half true because the best grower Mickey had ever known happened to be his housemate and he gave a hell of a deal to those in his house. Mickey hadn’t gone without primo weed in years now. 

Hell, Mickey even loved the common room, with it’s hanging plants that were practically everywhere and it’s abundance of overstuffed chairs and couches that were the most comfortable things Mickey’s ass had ever sat upon. Like seriously, _so fucking comfortable_. Mickey was half convinced that Helga Hufflepuff had put some sort of charms on the common room when she’d made the place to make it seem so comfortable. There wasn’t any mention of it in the stories about the creation of Hogwarts, but to be fair, there wasn’t a lot of attention paid to Helga either in the stories. 

Everyone seemed way more obsessed with the drama between Godric and Salazar which was pretty bullshit in Mickey’s opinion. Who the fuck cared about Godric and Salazar’s relationship drama (which was what it was, no one could convince Mickey differently, the two had definitely been fucking) when you had badass bitches like Helga and Rowena to read about? Without Helga Fucking Hufflepuff they wouldn’t have half the delicious food they ate every night, nor the House Elves that made the food and kept the whole castle in order. Hell, he bets the whole castle would have come down before it was even fully built if she hadn’t been there to referee the other three with their competitive bullshit about which students to teach. There had to be a sane, rational person amongst the lot.

Mickey maybe had some feelings on his house’s founder. Just a few. He thought he was justified in it though, considering the woman had created what was essentially his home. 

**********

Mickey realized a few days before New Years Eve that he and Gallagher weren’t just studying and fooling around anymore. They were actually hanging out. Like real friends. Like Mandy and Ian did, except with way less cuddling and way more blow jobs and God, he needed to not think of his sister and blow jobs in the same sentence if he wanted to keep his lunch down. The realization came with another realization that when they hung out, it wasn’t Ian who always initiated it. Mickey had found himself flopping into the space next to Ian and bringing up some random subject more often than not, and really, how the fuck did that keep happening? Because Mickey sure as hell wasn’t planning it before it happened. 

It was weird. Everything to do with Ian Gallagher and his too long limbs and too red hair was weird. 

It didn’t stop him from arguing vehemently with the Slytherin about hypothetical shit that didn’t matter though, which currently was who would win a fight with someone with a gun versus someone with a wand.

“Wands can do more than offensive spells though! They can cast shields.” Ian was arguing. 

“Like what? Protego? You think a fuckin shielding spell is gonna stop a bullet man? It’s not. Wizards didn’t account for actual weapons when they came up with those spells.” 

“Okay, what about _depulso_? Just send the bullet right back at the person shooting at you.” 

“A banishing charm? Nah Firecrotch, you’ve gotta be aiming at the bullet exactly to make that work. You’d have to have perfect aim and killer fucking reflexes for that to work. Your chances would be like one in a million or some shit.” Mickey was pulling the number out of his ass, and he was sure Ian’s brother Lip would know some sort of legitimate statistic on it, but Lip was also a douchebag and Mickey would never in a million years ask him a question like that. 

“I could do it.” And Ian’s words were so confident, his chin tilted defiantly that Mickey had to laugh and shake his head.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point is wizards don’t account for the physical shit. You lot are so lost in your magic you don’t even think about it. Physical fights, with actual weapons just aren’t your thing.” 

“Alright, first off ‘you lot’? You’re a wizard too.” He ignored Mickey’s muttered “Half. Half wizard. Technically witch since it’s from my Mom.” because it _didn’t work like that Mickey_. “And second. Second! We’re plenty physical. What about quidditch?” 

“Quidditch doesn’t count. It’s not exactly a contact sport.” 

“Tell that to your sister. Or even to you. You Milkoviches seem to be determined to turn Quidditch into something that lands everyone in the Hospital Wing.” 

“In our defense, it’s mostly just each other that we go after.” And that was a lie. That was totally a lie. Mickey and Mandy totally had it out for each other when they played against each other, but Mickey was also ruthless when it came to anyone on an opposing team. Plus he tended to pick out whoever he thought looked super douchey and target them more than the others. So yeah, they were definitely intent on making Quidditch much more violent than the already violent sport was. 

Ian’s face was an expression of disbelief, but he didn’t argue with Mickey and Mickey allowed it. 

 

********

New Years Eve came, and with it a snowstorm that left the occupants of the castle cooped up inside. Or at least, those who had stayed behind instead of going home for the holidays. Mickey and Mandy had stayed because why on earth would they ever go back home to their Dad when they could stay at Hogwarts, where it felt more like home than anywhere else. Ian stayed with claims that it was because going home was more expensive, but Mickey knew it was to stay with Mandy and probably partially because Ian and his dickbag brother were fighting about something. That wasn’t exactly uncommon though. Everyone knew Ian and Lip Gallagher fought all the time, but they always seemed to make up and go back to being the weirdly tight knit Gallaghers that they’d always been. 

Mickey found himself at nearly midnight, bundled up in Slytherin common room, the place empty except for Mandy, Ian and himself. The two had dragged the Hufflepuff into their common room, claiming that he wasn’t allowed to be a socially awkward loser (Mandy’s words) on New Years Eve of all nights. Mickey had protested greatly, but in the end his sister’s stubbornness had prevailed and he was stuck there. 

It was creepy as hell. The entire room glowed fucking _green_ , like it wasn’t obvious enough from all the tapestries with Slytherins on them that yes, this was the Slytherin common room. He could see the lake from the windows and the fucking Giant Squid floating past and he could hear the sounds of water moving. It all made him feel a little claustrophobic and panicked and everything felt so cold, the total opposite of the Hufflepuff common room. 

The first couple hours he’d been seriously uncomfortable, and he’d kept waiting for one of the other Slytherin’s to descend on him and throw his ass out for being a halfblooded Hufflepuff in their “sacred space.” He kept waiting to have to fight someone, to pull his wand and prove he could hold his own against any Slytherin, even in their own territory. Mandy and Ian had told him they were two of only a handful of Slytherin’s that had stayed though, so he wasn’t likely to see any of them, and if he did they probably wouldn’t care. 

By now though, after they’d gone through three quarters of the weed Mickey had brought done and over half of the alcohol Ian and Mandy had nicked, he was feeling a little better. A little looser, and a whole lot more relaxed as he leaned against Ian’s side, Mandy on the redhead’s other side, with one of his hands twisted in her own. 

“Your common room is fuckin weird.” He stated seriously, snorting moments after as Ian handed the joint they’d been passing back and forth between the three of them to Mickey. “It’s like-“ and he paused to take a hit off of it, keeping it in his hand because it was his weed. The bringer of the weed got to hit it twice if he wanted. “It’s like, a fuckin- I dunno, it’s just creepy. Do you guys hide all your dead bodies down here? And how many people sneak in? Your password is fucking ‘blood purity’, not exactly clever. Next week you should have it be ‘ambition’, just keep listing your house traits.” Ian looked like he was going to say something, maybe answer one of Mickey’s questions, but Mickey was on a roll and he took one more hit off the joint before passing it back to Mandy over Ian’s shoulder as he continued. “You know how long it’s been since a non-hufflepuff was in our common room? A _thousand fucking years._ You lot probably have someone in here every other week. Not that you help much, bringing my ass in. And _Hufflepuff_ is called the stupid house.” 

Ian and Mandy roll their eyes, but Mandy doesn’t do more than reach across Ian to smack Mickey upside the head. _Hard_. They both know there’s no use genuinely arguing with a seriously crossfaded Mickey, not when his limbs have gone loose and he’s leaning heavily against Ian like the Slytherin is the only thing keeping him up. 

“You’re a dumbass.” Mandy said, with a shake of her head. 

“Takes one to know one.” Mickey mumbled. 

“I take that back. You’re twelve.” 

Ian, the shit that he was, looked like he was going to die from trying to hold in his laughter. Mickey’s mind felt hazy, and he couldn’t keep himself from thinking that even when Ian was red and shaking from holding it in, even when he should look ugly from the way his face was scrunched up from the effort, even with all of that he looked fucking beautiful. Fuck, that was some good weed if he was feeling so loose. The added alcohol didn’t help though. The combo always left him loose, thoughts hazy and impulse control nonexistent. It was why he stuck to one or the other, or seriously minimal amounts of one if he was doing both. 

This was what he would blame for the fact that when he heard the clocks strike twelve he leaned over into Ian’s space. The fact that he shifted to straddle the Slytherin. The fact that he leaned in to close the distance, to press his lips into the other boy’s and kiss him while he breathed “Happy new years” against his mouth, tasting the pot and firewhiskey on the other boy’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I may or may not head canon that Helga Hufflepuff was a total BAMF and that’s reflected in Mickey. 2. NEW YEARS KISSES. 3. has anyone thought about guns versus wands or is that just me? 4. There might be mentions of some serious shit in this story, and Mickey/Ian is usually a great bringer of angst in fic, but let’s be real here, this is self indulgent fluff with Gallavich at Hogwarts. I can't do too much angst after that finale. So minimal amounts of angst might occur, but mostly it's just shenanigans and fluff here. 5. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THE PEOPLE THAT KUDOS AND COMMENT, LIKE FOR REAL!! I don't reply back to comments a whole lot because I, like Mickey, am a socially awkward loser who doesn't know what to say back to people, but I promise you, they mean the world.


	4. Mickey Milkovich Is Chronically Unable To Handle His Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck you Mick, no one’s asking you to hold his hand, don’t act like I’m trying to force you into a shitty romance movie." 
> 
> \--------------
> 
> Or the one where Mickey is hella dumb and can't handle feelings.

Mickey woke up in an unfamiliar bed. In an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by green tapestries, in a pair of soft, unfamiliar sleep pants and and a too big unfamiliar t-shirt with a solid weight against him. No, make that two solid weights against him. To say he nearly had a panic attack at that was a fucking understatement. He only calmed down once the events of the night before caught up to him and really, it was only a brief reprieve before he was freaking out again because he’d fucking _kissed Ian Gallagher_. And he’d done it in front of Mandy! He vaguely remembered Mandy clapping and saying something like _“It’s about time.”_ but still. Mickey didn’t kiss people, and he especially didn’t kiss them in front of other people. Fooling around he could do. Fooling around was okay and you could always just say that you’d been in need of an orgasm and the person had been there, so you took advantage of that, but _kissing_? Kissing was more intimate in Mickey’s mind. Chick’s never looked for true loves fuck in stories, they were always after true loves kiss and Mickey wasn’t exactly basing his life on stories, especially not girly ass ones, but he was pretty sure shit like that meant the entire world took kissing as something _romantic_. 

Mickey didn’t _do_ romantic. And he wasn’t romancing Ian Gallagher, because that was stupid and would not end well. He was sure of it. _Fuck_. He hoped Ian maybe forgot all about what had happened last night, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t gonna happen. Mickey had drank more than anyone, and Ian had seemed practically sober when midnight rolled around and Mickey had- Mickey had done what he’d done. _Fuck._

His mental torment was interrupted by a small hand slapping over his face, sharp nails digging into his cheek and yeah, okay, one of those solid weights was Mandy. That made a lot of sense. “Stop thinking so loud asshole, some of us are trying to sleep over here.” She said, sounding irritated and like if Mickey didn’t comply there’d be some serious hell to pay. “Just go back to sleep. You can have your big gay freak out later, at a normal person time, when there’s food.” 

Mickey complied. Well, sorta. He forced himself to relax, to let the tenseness and the panic leave his limbs as he sank back into the bed and he knew that’s really all Mandy meant. It wasn’t like she could actually hear him thinking, though Mickey wouldn’t put it past the girl to learn occlumency and just not tell anyone. She was still way young for that though, so Mickey felt pretty sure of the fact that really, Mandy just wanted him to relax so that she had a softer pillow to sleep against instead of a restless, tense, panicked one. 

Mickey honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a bed with Mandy, probably not since their Mom died, but he’d always been the closest to Mandy out of all his siblings, so he didn’t protest when she settled her head back onto his shoulder and dozed back off. He’d probably give her shit for it in the morning, tell her she drooled or something, but for right then he just glanced between Ian and Mandy, asleep on either aside of him, decided to mentally say “fuck it” and went back to sleep. He’d deal with all the shit that was racing through his head in the morning. 

**** 

He was saved from having to deal with anything when he was woken up by a scowling Slytherin clearing their throat and making “ahem” noises above the three of them. Mickey groaned, taking in the unimpressed kid with a prefects badge attached to his robes and yeah, figured one of the few Slytherin’s staying would be one that would get all fussy about rules or some shit. Ian and Mandy had conveniently left that part out. 

_“Out.”_ The prefect was saying and Mickey for the life of him couldn’t remember his name, something with an M maybe? He was too tired to care though so he just shrugged, rolling out of the bed, his knee jabbing into Ian’s side carelessly as he climbed to his feet. 

“Whatever. I was leaving anyway.” He said, brushing past the prefect and making sure to shoulder check him as he went by. Hard. And the prefect looked pretty close to whirling on Mickey and starting shit but Mickey just kept on going, the sounds of Ian and Mandy being bitched out for bringing a Hufflepuff into the common room echoing behind him. 

A huge part of him was glad he was kicked out before there was a chance to do something dumb like _talk_ about what had happened last night. It meant he could go on with his life and start avoiding Ian like his life depended on it. _That_ sounded like a perfect plan because really, when confronted with the option to either confront his problems head on or run like hell and ignore them, Mickey was going to take the latter. It seemed smarter. It seemed easier, at the least.

Besides, he had some good excuses for why he was going to avoid Gallagher. He had O.W.L.s coming up and he needed to study for that shit because while Mickey didn’t tend to be big on tests, or acting like he cared about tests, these fuckers and the ones he’d have as a seventh year were the difference between Mickey finishing school and doing something that had to do with magic and him being stuck, going home to get roped into helping his Dad commit cons. Mickey wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit he’d rather have magic instead of a high probability of ending up in prison. 

So he studied and he avoided Ian fucking Gallagher and his red hair and dopey smile that made Mickey want to kiss him. It was a _great_ excuse. It was an excuse that had Mandy, nearly two weeks later, slapping at Mickey’s head and looking at him with fire in her eyes. “ _What the fuck Mickey?_ ” 

“Why are we what the fucking me? How about what the fuck _Mandy_? What’s with the fucking violence? Fuckin a.” He was going on the offensive, doing his best to turn whatever shit Mandy was about to yell at him for back around on her. Mickey had been playing quidditch long enough to know that the best defense was a great offense. 

“No, no, no, you’re not turning this shit on me. What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Studying.” Mickey said, shooting her his best glare, one that was supposed to communicate _‘fucking idiot’_ loud and clear because clearly he was studying. There were text books piled around him and it wasn’t like Mickey was the only one in the library, _clearly_ studying. Over half of the fifth year seemed to be there, all of them seeming to realize O.W.L.s were only a couple months away. Hell, more than a few of them looked close to a panic attack and it gave Mickey a terrible sort of glee to see people ten times as stressed as he was about this, and it wasn’t like it was some sort of life or death matter like it was for Mickey for most people. 

“Liar. You’re avoiding. I know it, you know it, and fucking _Ian_ knows it. He’s making sad, kicked puppy eyes, and it’s _your fault_.” 

“And how is that my fucking problem?” 

“Because you _like him_ , asshole.” 

“So what? I’m supposed to go ask him out? Hold his hand and skip merrily into the sunset or some shit?” He asked, still on the offensive, but frustrated under Mandy’s gaze. He felt like she could see through him, and it was fucking _awful_. 

“Fuck you Mick, no one’s asking you to hold his hand, don’t act like I’m trying to force you into a shitty romance movie. Just stop being a dick about it and realize this isn’t back home. You don’t need to act like you’re an even bigger asshole than you actually are.” Mandy sounded tired, and it made Mickey actually look at her, _really look_ at her and see she looked almost as tired as she sounded. She looked worried, and it bothered Mickey that she was worried about him. Him and his stupid issues with Ian Gallagher. 

“I’ll- Fuck Mands, I’ll work on it, alright?” He said, because Mandy had hit him with his soft spots, one of which being that he was pretty against her being upset and worried. It rubbed him the wrong way and made him want to fix it. Hufflepuff loyalty was a pain. 

“Good, because I can’t deal with Ian moping for much longer.” She said, and then with a brush of her hand through Mickey’s hair she was gone. 

******

Svetlana was in Mickey’s year, a Hufflepuff same as he was, and absolutely fucking _terrifying_. Mickey had watched her beat a kid a year ahead of them unconscious with a Astronomy book in second year for calling her a goddamn commie. Mickey had for his part, spent the entire time cracking up and wondering if they’d been subject to some sort of weird time turner event because he was pretty sure those sort of insults belonged in another fucking century. When the kid had been thoroughly beat down though, Svetlana had turned on Mickey, looking like she was about ready to do the same thing to him and been met with Mickey, his hands up in a surrendering gesture telling her the asshole deserved everything she’d dished out. 

She’d still smacked him upside the head with her book.

They’d been friends ever since. 

Mickey was pretty sure it was the weirdest friendship ever. Mickey pretty frequently called her a dumb Russian whore and she even more frequently called Mickey a worthless Ukrainian. Mickey also almost constantly had bruises on his sides from where she’d quickly, and ruthlessly jab him any time he was being irritating, sometimes even when he wasn’t so Mickey was 99% sure it was just for fun. She was basically mean as hell, but it worked. It was solid, and she had every inch of the Hufflepuff loyalty that Mickey himself did, something she proved during the times when Mickey got sick and she brought him soup, or when something was bothering him and she’d sit next to him not saying anything but passing him vodka until he forgot about it. 

Unfortunately for Mickey, she also seemed to have the same scary mind reading capabilities Mandy did. Or they talked to each other. Either was a possibility. He could see them being friends and taking over the world to become ruthless dictators who ruled with iron fists. 

“You like Orange Boy, yes?” Is how she started a conversation when she corned Mickey in the common room the day after Mandy had, curling into the spot next to him on the oversized love seat. Mickey ignored her, in favor of taking a giant bite of the sandwich he’d nicked from the kitchens. She seemed to take his silence as some sort of agreement though and hummed thoughtfully, reaching out lightning quick to steal the piece of tomato that had fallen out of the sandwich off his plate. “You do. Yet you’re not seeing him, and instead are moping around common room, filling it with whiny baby Ukranian aura.” 

“I am _not_ moping.” Mickey insisted, though he knew even as the words left his mouth that he wasn’t going to win this argument. Svetlana was like a dog with a bone. 

“You mope. You sit here with your books and your sad, sad face, doing nothing to fix whatever you fucked up with orange boy and orange boy, he sits in the great hall at meals and stares at you with same sad face. It must stop. For sake of Hogwarts. For sake of _me_.” 

“So fuckin dramatic, fuckin a. I’m working on it.” 

“Work harder.” 

******

Mickey would like to insist that his life wasn’t more or less run by two crazy teenage girls, but in the end it pretty much was, because he couldn’t do _nothing_ after he’d been cornered by two of the most important women in his life. (One could even argue that after the death of his mother, they were the only important women in Mickey’s life.) 

His method of trying was maybe a bit simplistic, but he was a little low on ideas, especially when all of this dumb _liking someone_ shit made his heart clench in panic. It basically involved finding Ian, sitting down next to him and waiting to be noticed. He wasn’t sure how it would work and didn’t have high hopes, but it was what he was working with so far.

Eventually Ian looked up at him, face carefully neutral. “You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah.” Mickey said with a nod, because it was obvious, there was no denying it. “You like me though.” He added, forcing his voice to stay confident, like whether Ian disagreed with that statement or not didn’t really matter. 

“Yeah.” Ian agreed, and Mickey’s mouth curved up a little. “Why is anyone’s guess, but I do.” 

They were quiet for a while after that, both shifting until their sides were pressed together, from their shoulders to hips. Finally, Mickey looked up at Ian. “We good?” He asked, surprised at himself and how much he cared about what Ian’s answer was. 

“Yeah. Just don’t fuckin kiss me and then ignore me for a month like a douchebag again.” 

“A month? It was like a week, maybe two. A month is exaggerating.” He said, quieting at the look Ian shot at him because yeah, how long it had been didn’t matter, he knew that. Whether he’d ignored Ian for a week or a month, it was a shitty thing to do. 

They were good though, and Mickey felt like he could breathe again, even if he hadn’t been aware that he’d spent the days since new years feeling like he was unable to.


	5. Give An Inch, Take A Mile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seemed to settle back into something like how they’d been before New Years, before Mickey had had his freak out. (Mandy was calling it his “Big Gay I Like Ian Freak Out.” Mickey was calling it “Mandy’s a fucking moron.”)

Time passed and Mickey’s O.W.L.s crept steadily closer and things seemed to settle back into something like how they’d been before New Years, before Mickey had had his freak out. (Mandy was calling it his “Big Gay I Like Ian Freak Out.” Mickey was calling it “Mandy’s a fucking moron.”) 

Ian still bugged Mickey in the library, and Mickey was still a moody asshole sometimes, but lately it was laced with fondness. There was something under the surface, that Mickey was going to allow to be there for once, because it was enjoyable, _Ian_ was enjoyable. So it was easy to settle back into the sort of routine they’d had before, except that it’d been more or less reversed. Instead of Mickey helping Ian pass his classes, it was Ian settled into the chair next to Mickey, ankle hooked over the Hufflepuff’s with a book in his lap as he quizzed Mickey, doing his best to help Mickey prepare for the O.W.L.s. 

Mickey couldn’t help but be grateful. Not just for the fact that Ian was helping him, but that he seemed to understand without asking that this was important to Mickey, that passing these so that he had half a chance of turning into something other than a younger version of his father was important. Ian had just settled into it, no explanation needed, and god Mickey was grateful for that because he wasn’t sure he could ever vocally express how big a deal it was, not when half the time he couldn’t even think it. Pretending he didn’t give a shit was easier, but not giving a shit would get him exactly where he didn’t want to be, and he knew that. 

Ian had dragged him outside that day, claiming Mickey needed to get some fresh air and that the fumes from the books were killing him. Mickey had protested initially, but then Ian had pointed out that book studying was only going to get him so far, the O.W.L.s had practical exams too and Mickey should be working on his spell work. So Mickey had followed him out, somewhat more willingly, and ended up with Ian at his back, hand around Mickey’s wrist as he guided Mickey’s arm through a motion. 

“Your accuracy and precision suck. You cast spells like it’s life or death and while that’s great when it actually is life or death, your O.W.L. examiners aren’t going to be looking for that.” Ian had said, right before they’d ended up in their current position. Mickey had been tempted to swat him off when he’d ended up behind him, but had instead allowed it, breath caught in his throat at the feel of Ian’s fingers on his wrist. 

Ian’s breath was warm against the side of Mickey’s face, and his chest a solid force against Mickey’s back and seriously, Mickey was pretty sure that there wasn’t an actual reason for Ian to be _pressed_ against him, Ian’s entire body a long line against Mickey’s. God, this was _not_ helping him focus on his precision when it came to spell work. All he could focus on was _Ian_ , Ian who despite seeming like he’d be awkward and gangly like a fucking _puppy_ , was solid and strong. _Fuck._

“Hey, Firecrotch, your dick against my ass isn’t gonna do shit to help me.” He said finally, because seriously, Ian needed to back up at least a little or else Mickey wasn’t going to get shit done for studying. 

“Shit, yeah, probably true.” Ian said, sounding a lot more amused than Mickey thought was justified. He stepped back though, dropping Mickey’s wrist and edging to the side of the older boy to watch. He was smiling as he looked at him and Mickey thought it made him look a little like a smug asshole. Also gorgeous, but that was to come with the territory of Ian Gallagher, he was pretty sure. The boy had won the genetic lottery in Mickey’s opinion. “Try the spell again. Slower this time.” 

Mickey did, raising his wand back up to try again. 

If Ian stepped back behind him, hand on Mickey’s wrist to guide it a few more times over the next hour they worked on spells, well, Mickey wasn’t exactly complaining. 

********

When Mickey finished his last test for his O.W.L.s it was to find Mandy and Ian waiting for him, looking as nervous as Mickey had felt before they’d started. 

“How’d it go?” Mandy asked, Ian beside her looking just as curious. He knew Ian understood how important this was, at least to an extent, but he and Mandy were the same. Mandy would understand in a way Ian couldn’t how important it was. How important it was to pass this, and then pass his N.E.W.T.s in seventh year. She had the same need as he did, and he didn’t doubt she was already studying for it. Neither of them wanted to be stuck back at home with their father after this. 

“Good, I think? Fuck, maybe, I don’t know. I feel like I passed, probably, but I won’t find shit out until sometime this summer.” He said, trying to sound like he didn’t care but knowing that he’d failed. He could tell just from the look on Ian and Mandy’s faces. 

Mandy nodded though, stepped forward to sling an arm around Mickey’s shoulder and steer him down the hallway. “You passed. I’m sure you passed.” She said, sounding so fucking sure that Mickey let himself believe it. 

“We studied way too hard for you not to.” Ian added, looking just as sure as Mandy sounded. It made something bubble up in Mickey, this warm, _fucking fond_ feeling, the fact that he had both Ian and Mandy next to him, sure that Mickey had actually managed to do something good.

“We’ll see this summer when I get my results.” He said, instead of the _thank you’_ that was stuck in his throat. Judging by the way Mandy squeezed her arm around him and Ian bumped their shoulders together, he thought that maybe they understood. 

********

Mickey didn’t like summer. He hated the heat, hated the fact that they were too fucking poor to afford air conditioning and instead ended up laying around, trying to move as little as possible to keep his temperature down. He hated it. Though really, he hated the fact that he and Mandy had to go _home_ for summer more than anything. He could definitely deal without seeing Terry for three months out of the year. 

Luckily for Mickey, it worked out to where he more or less didn’t. Terry ended up arrested about a week into Mickey’s summer and Mickey didn’t feel even a little guilty for being so happy about it. It meant he and Mandy could have some peace for the summer, and that no one would bitch about the owls that flew in and out of the house with letters to and from Ian and Svetlana pretty frequently. It meant no one was around to bitch when a different owl flew in at the crack of dawn, and Mickey woke with a fucking _screech_ because the thing had landed on his chest, talons digging in and an official looking document tied to it’s leg. 

Mickey was convinced the thing was Satan himself and he did his best to shoo it off him and onto something that wasn’t Mickey himself so that he could get whatever he’d been sent and get the demon bird _out_. Mickey had accepted early on that owls were a necessary part of wizarding life that he couldn’t avoid but that didn’t mean they weren’t evil little shits. 

Once the owl was gone he shoved the parchment away, too tired to deal with it yet and rolled over, falling back asleep. 

He woke up again, when the sun was higher in the sky and he could safely assume it was at least well into the morning if not afternoon and thus an actually decent time for someone to wake up during their summer break. He stretched, rolled out of bed and went on with his morning routine and it wasn’t until he was shoving his second pop tart into his mouth that he remembered that morning. He practically sprinted back to his room, fingers fumbling to find the letter and open it, eyes scanning over the neat words on the page. 

After that it was like he was running on instinct. He left the house, hopped a train, and then a bus until he was at the Leaky Cauldron, where he made use of their floo powder, barely thinking about it as he said “The Gallagher House!” and whirled through the fireplace, being spit out another and into a small, but cozy looking kitchen. Fiona practically jumped out of her skin, and Mickey couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t every day a dirty looking kid popped into your house unexpectedly (though Mickey occasionally had a feeling it was a pretty frequent occurrence in the Gallagher house) She seemed to lose the jumpiness pretty quickly, raising an eyebrow at Mickey and when all Mickey said was “Ian?” she pointed to a staircase with a bemused look on her face. 

Mickey wasted no time in following her directions, climbing the stairs and peeking in doors until he found the one that contained Ian, sprawled across a bed with his eyes closed, looking just as miserable in the heat as Mickey tended to feel. _“Eight.”_ He said without any sort of preamble, a rare, but genuine smile on his face when Ian looked at him, every inch of his face set into a confused expression. 

“Wha?” His voice sounded tired, a little rough like he’d been asleep for a long while and Mickey couldn’t help the fond feeling he had at that, was too elated to even try. 

“I got eight O.W.L.s. I only failed History of Magic. I even passed fucking Divinations and I bullshitted that entire test.” He said, the parchment still clutched in one hand as he watched as Ian slowly understood. 

Mickey realized then and there, as Ian’s expression turned from confused into a bright, excited smile that he hadn’t even thought before he’d rushed to Ian’s house. It’d been all fucking instinct. A desire to see Ian, to see Ian happy for him, to be there with Ian’s happy smiling face when Mickey himself was happy. Fuck, he was pretty sure he was falling for Ian and his dumb face. 

“Congrats, Mick.” Ian said, mouth still turned up in a smile and eyes warm, even still a little sleepy. He reached out, snagging Mickey’s hand so that he could tug the shorter boy onto the bed, more or less on to of him. “I knew you could do it.” He sounded so sure, and Mickey for once believed him, believed that Ian was sure of Mickey and he didn’t stop himself when he leaned down, fitted their mouths together for a kiss, entirely sober but feeling a little drunk on happiness and Ian’s smile. 

It was the first time they’d kissed since New Years, a whole half a year had passed since then, and they’d definitely fooled around since, but it was infrequent. Ian had been careful after Mickey had freaked out, had seemed cautious to initiate anything too intimate, anything other than the occasional celebratory hand job and Mickey had let him. Now though, with his lips on Ian’s, with Ian kissing him so fucking intently, slow and gentle despite the fact that this was Mickey Milkovich he was kissing, the opposite of someone that anyone in their right mind would be gentle with, well Mickey wasn’t sure why he hadn’t started doing this sooner. 

It was terrifying, and exhilarating, and like being high in the best way and Mickey wasn’t going to make any cliche drug comparisons, but god, this was _good_. 

Soon, the gentle kisses turned into something more fierce as Ian rolled them over, settling above Mickey as he licked into the seam of his mouth. His hands couldn’t seem to stay still, running over Mickey’s sides over his shirt, and then over his back, down across his ass, giving a squeeze there before he pulled Mickey’s ass forward, ground up against him. Mickey let out a groan as he arched into it, feeling every inch like a teenager for once as he and Ian rutted their hips together, trying to get off while still fully clothed. 

Ian eventually broke the kiss, but instead of pulling back he skated his lips down the side of Mickey’s face, fixed his mouth on Mickey’s jaw and worried the skin there, sucking and biting and leaving his mark. “Fuck, Gallagher, you tryin to get me faced with a million questions cause you can’t control yourself?” He tried to make his tone sound irritated, failed and instead sounded about half wrecked judging by the smirk on Ian’s face when he pressed one last kiss to the mark. 

“Who’s gonna ask questions? You’ve spent your summer hiding out in your house. The only one who’ll say shit is Mandy.” Ian said before he was pressing his mouth back to Mickey’s. Mickey thought this might be how it worked with Ian, once Mickey finally let him have an inch, he took a mile, but when Ian’s hands finally slipped under Mickey’s shirt, found his skin and skated across it, softly and almost reverently, and a contrast to the way his mouth pressed hard against Mickey’s, his teeth biting Mickey’s lips red, well, Mickey couldn’t bring himself to care that Ian got a little greedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just fluff. I couldn't help myself.


	6. Summer Lovin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not to sound cocky or anything, but my dick is _way_ bigger than my fingers.” 
> 
> “Prove it.”
> 
> ************
> 
> Or the one where there shall be porn.

Mickey spent his summer more or less with Ian and Mandy. There was a sense of freedom that came with Terry being in the can, and it left Mickey and Mandy with the sort of high that came from knowing they were safe, even just temporarily. So summer was split between houses. Mickey and Mandy would spend a few days crowded into the Gallagher house with Ian and then Ian would follow them home, would bask in the quiet that was a house that didn’t contain quite as many people. 

The ways in which they enjoyed their summer differed depending on where they were spending their time. When they were at the Gallagher house it involved lazing about in the sun on the lawn, or ending up “helping” Debbie in the kitchen, cracking jokes when the Ravenclaw got mad at them because their helping involved rough housing more than anything and tended to devolve into Ian chasing Mandy around the kitchen while Ian stood next to a scowling Debbie and shook his head at the two of them. It tended to end with them all piled into Ian’s bed in his room, Ian and Mickey stretched out across it at either end with Mandy taking up the length of it, her head on one of their stomachs and her feet on the other’s as they passed a cigarette or a joint around. 

When they ended up at the Milkoviches it was a little less relaxed. Their time was interspersed with Mandy’s shifts, the ones she picked up every once in awhile at a hole in the wall restaurant, a skeevy place that didn’t seem to care she was way too young to be working, where creepy old dudes stared at her tits and a couple tried to do more than stare. Mandy was quick as fuck, though and while the place was skeevy enough to let her work there, they also cared little enough about their customers to be bothered that Mandy had broken a customers hand once and stabbed every other one that tried to get a grab in with a fork. 

When Mandy wasn’t working they ran around town, doing their best to drag Ian into every thing a teenager shouldn’t be doing but actually did in their neighborhood. A good 75% of it was probably illegal, probably 50% of it somewhat like the shit he’d pulled with or for his Dad, but it felt a little lighter, a little more like harmless fun when he got to see Ian laugh at how easily Mickey hot-wired a car just to prove he _could_ or when they bumped shoulders as they ran down the street, high tailing it away from the yelling convenience store employee who’d caught onto the fact that Ian and Mickey were nicking food off the shelves while Mandy distracted them with her tits. When they weren’t running around they were crashed onto the couch, Mickey and Mandy coaching Ian on video games (though Ian didn’t seem to need it, was fucking amazing at beating Mickey once he got the hang of how it worked, the asshole) and eating shitty food that they’d stolen. 

It was _comfortable._

It freaked Mickey out a little. 

Ian, the asshole, seemed to notice. (Mandy would later inform him that it wasn’t like he wasn’t obvious. Mickey was a lot less subtle than he thought he was, and also had predictable patterns.) He let Mickey’s internal freak out go on for about a week before he’d seemed to have enough and let his serious disapproval show. At least, that’s what Mickey took it as when he stopped letting Mickey turn his head when he angled for a kiss and rolled the two of them over in the bed they’d been laying on side by side, hands catching over Mickey’s wrists to pin them to the bed as he leaned in to press his mouth to Mickey’s. It was light, and brief, but a pointed gesture anyway, especially judging by the fact that Ian was doing the chin thing. 

Mickey couldn’t take the chin thing. _“What?”_ He snapped. 

“What are you thinking?” Ian asked, and Mickey’s eyebrows raised, grinning sardonically because _wow_ , that was some sappy shit right there. “Fuck you, I don’t mean it like that. I mean, what’s got you freaking out?” 

“I’m not freaking out. Who the fuck says I’m freaking out?” It was Ian’s turn to look at Mickey like he was an idiot. “Shut up, I’m not.” 

“Mandy said-“ 

“Mandy doesn’t know shit.” 

“ _Mandy said_ that you’re freaking out because you like this.” Ian said, gesturing between the two of them with a little head nod. “That it’s a thing you do. Have done.” 

The thing was, it was true. Things got scary when they got important. He was pretty sure he could only have so many important things in his life before he started losing them, and right now he was pretty sure that between his siblings and school he was at his limit. The world didn’t give Milkoviches that many good things to care about. Hell, he’d freaked out his first year, only a month in and tried to run, had gotten as far as the gate before his Head of House had caught him and taken him back to her office. Mickey had already had some pretty hard edges back then, but he’d still been just an eleven year old kid and had broken down under the woman’s gaze, spilling out that he’d been leaving before they could kick him out. He suspected to this day that there’d been something in the hot chocolate she’d given him to make him talk, but it’d all been true. He’d always thought that it was better to bail than to deal with the inevitable crash and burn. 

He was having issues being so sure of that anymore. 

“You and Mandy need to stop gossiping about me while you paint each other’s nails at your little sleep overs.” He said, thinking it might be the happy medium between spilling out all the shit he was afraid of and pushing Ian away. 

“Asshole.” Ian said, shaking his head at Mickey. He looked like he still expected Mickey to talk and Mickey twitched a little, testing Ian’s grip on his wrists, twisting his hips up to see if he could dislodge Ian grip and get out from under him. It was a futile attempt, he knew it was, Ian was already bigger than Mickey and still growing, he never had a chance. 

“Do we have to do this now? I had some serious plans to blow you, man.” He said, trying a different tactic. He even licked his lips, glancing meaningfully at Ian’s crotch. 

Ian, like the asshole he was, _laughed_. His eyes fixed on Mickey’s mouth for a second though, and Mickey couldn’t help the little part of him that was pleased at that. He might not be winning this pseudo-argument, but he was definitely affecting Ian. “You can do that later.” 

“Yeah, well, I might not want to later.” Mickey protested, mostly just to be an ass. He couldn’t think of a time when he didn’t want to get his mouth on Ian’s dick. That thing was a gift from God, or Merlin, or _someone_. 

“Then I won’t get my dick sucked, but I will have gotten an actual fuckin discussion out of you for why you’re being so damn weird.” He said, shrugging like it was simple. And it did sound simple, at least coming out of Ian’s mouth, because of course Ian would care more about whatever shit Mickey’s head was doing than getting off, of course he would. Ian genuinely liked Mickey, and Mickey knew that, and that was terrifying okay? Just when Mickey thought he’d settled into that, and was okay with it, it sprung back up and Mickey got scared. 

“I do like this.” He said, even if it was half under his breath because eventually he needed to not be scared of this shit, or at the very least he needed to stop freaking out and pushing so hard when it did. He could acknowledge that fact even if he wouldn’t say it out loud, especially not to Mandy, the tattletale. “But shit like this doesn’t tend to last long Gallagher.” 

Out of all the reactions Ian could have to Mickey’s words the one he didn’t expect was a brilliant smile. It lit up his entire face and Mickey kind of wanted to kiss it, to taste Ian’s smile on his lips, but he also kinda wanted to smack it off because Ian was the one who wanted to _talk_ and here he was not taking this shit seriously. Ian’s smile faded a little, like he could tell what Mickey was thinking, and he ducked his head to press a kiss to the edge of Mickey’s cheekbone. “You’re an idiot, man.” He said, and Mickey frowned because that wasn’t exactly comforting. Ian sucked at this. “No, I mean, you’re an idiot to think there’s an expiration date on this shit. I’m not saying this is some forever, soulmate thing, and I’m pretty sure you’d beat the shit out of me if I did, but whatever we’re doing here, I like it, and I like you. I’m not looking for this to be over anytime soon. Besides, Mandy already threatened to cut my balls off if I break your heart, and I’m pretty positive she’d go through with it.” 

Mickey was rethinking his stance on Ian sucking at being reassuring, because the shit Ian saying was working for him. It wasn’t some grand declaration of love or anything, but Ian was right, that wasn’t what Mickey wanted to hear. It was the perfect, reassuring, but low pressure explanation of Ian being into Mickey and it made something settle in Mickey, eased the panic that welled up at the thought of getting too close, hurdling too fast into all of this. 

“Alright, alright, I’m not freaking out anymore. Now can we stop with the sappy shit and get to the making out?” He asked, and he was kind of surprised when that seemed to be that. Ian accepted it with a grin and slid down to attach his mouth to Mickey’s. 

************************

“Don’t you still have your summer homework or some shit to do? Something that isn’t annoying the fuck out of me?” Mickey asked when Ian poked him between his shoulder blades for about the twelfth time.

“Nah, already did it. Remember, you were all ‘I’m not blowing you if you don’t do this shit’ so I did it.” Ian said with a shrug, giving another jab to Mickey’s back. Mickey did remember, because while he didn’t give a shit whether Ian got good grades or not, would like him either way, he knew if the asshole didn’t do good enough to make it into auror training then he was going to have to deal with the inevitable mental breakdown that resulted from it. Mickey wasn’t down with that. 

“Then find something else to do. _Anything_ else. Cause I aint movin’ just to entertain your ass.” He said after a moment, absolutely determined to stay in his current position for as long as possible, sprawled out on his stomach on the floor of the Milkovich house, with a fan aimed at him, and a book in front of him. It was too hot to move and it was too hot for Ian to be repeatedly touching him, even if it was just light jabs to his back. 

“I’m _bored._ ” 

“Then find something to do.” 

“Can’t. Too hot.” 

“Not my problem.” 

“Read to me?” Ian asked, wiggling until his face was in front of Mickey’s and he could look at him with big eyes. Mickey was like 93% sure those eyes would be the death of him. _”Please?”_ Make that 98% sure. 

“Fuck, fine, alright. Just don’t be an asshole and interrupt..” 

“Fuck you, I don’t interrupt.” 

“Whatever you say Firecrotch.” He said before he started to read aloud, voice rising and falling with his words as Ian listened to him, only interrupting once to turn his head and kiss the older boy. 

********************

Night had come, and with it a chill in the air that was blessedly welcome by Mickey. It hadn’t been this cool in weeks, and Mickey felt less like he was going to melt and more like he wanted to climb Gallagher, to make up for the fact that for the past week he had barely wanted to touch the kid with how hot he felt. So he gave into that urge, rolled on top of the redhead and grinned. “Get on me, Gallagher.” 

“Wha?” Ian asked, blinking up at Mickey, and looking adorably sleepy and confused. 

“I said, get on me, or in me, I guess. Same difference, really.” He said, amused by the way Ian’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Fuck me, Gallagher.” He said to clarify, because maybe the confusion was warranted. He didn’t think it was, but maybe it was. It wasn’t like they’d fucked in the truest sense of the word yet. They’d done everything but fuck, honestly, but Mickey had yet to have Ian’s dick in his ass and he wanted it, so he figured telling Ian that was the best way to go about it. Besides, it was finally cool enough that he thought he could handle having the taller boy plastered against his back and sweaty. 

“You sure?” Ian asked, eyes a little wide and concerned and Mickey was kinda tempted to smack him for the question, but he knew Ian, knew Ian was into Mickey enough that he actually _cared_ , so he couldn’t bring himself to. 

“Would I fuckin ask if I wasn’t?” He asked, tone only slightly sharp. “I’m not a chick, I don’t need a bed of roses or you asking if I’m sure a million times the first time I get a dick in my ass. I’ve managed your fingers up there just fine, I think I can handle your dick.” 

“Not to sound cocky or anything, but my dick is _way_ bigger than my fingers.” 

“Prove it.” Mickey said, a challenging grin on his face and just like that Ian was rolling the two of them over so he was on top, hands dropping to the fly of Mickey’s pants to get him out of them as he leaned in to kiss the older boy. “S’more like it.” Mickey mumbled against Ian’s mouth, hands sliding up under Ian’s shirt to press against bare skin before he pulled away, just enough to pull Ian’s shirt off. 

“You’re an asshole.” Ian said, though Mickey could hear the laughter in his voice, couldn’t hear a single trace of dislike or disappointment and Ian was pretty steadily working on getting Mickey out of his clothes, tugging his pants off before he was moving back up to tug Mickey’s shirt off, so Mickey was pretty sure Ian liked it. 

“Yeah, but I’ve got an amazing ass.” Mickey said with a grin, wiggling said ass and hooking his fingers into Ian’s shorts to pull them off. Mickey, to be honest, had no idea whether his ass was anywhere above average or not, but Ian liked it, and that was all that really mattered. 

“This is true.” Ian replied, mouthing at Mickey’s jaw and rolling his hips into Mickey’s. It earned him a quiet noise, as Mickey bit down on his lip to muffle it. Ian brought a hand up, pressing two fingers to Mickey’s mouth and mumbled “suck.” Mickey obeyed, though he rolled his eyes a little at the redhead, pretty sure he was with a weirdo who got off on this, on Mickey working his tongue around the digits as he fucked them into Mickey’s mouth before he used the same fingers to open Mickey up. Mickey thought it was hot, yeah, but not nearly as much as Ian seemed to, though he was damned happy to indulge, especially when Ian removed his slobbery fingers and nudged Mickey’s hips up so that he could press a finger inside Mickey, give him barely any time before he shoved the other one in too. 

He worked them inside Mickey, fucking his fingers in and out, scissoring them to open Mickey up and fuck, Mickey was no stranger to fingers in his ass. He’d been fingering himself pretty much since he realized he had a dick and that he could jack off with it, but his fingers weren’t as long as Ian’s, or as big, and he could never get the angle quite right, so this, this was fucking _perfect_. Especially when Ian shifted down, pressed a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s thigh before leaning in to lick around his fingers before he pointed his tongue in past the muscle to join them. It made Mickey fucking _keen_. 

“Fuck.” He breathed, unashamedly trying to push his ass back into it. “I’m good. Fuck. C’mon. I’m ready.” He said because he really needed _more_. Ian’s fingers and mouth were perfect, but still not enough, not with the promise of Ian’s dick. 

“Lube?” Ian asked, sliding a third finger inside of Mickey and working it with the others. It had Mickey’s brain short circuiting for a moment, unable to remember what the question even was, let alone the answer. He caught on after a moment, made a vague gesture to the table by his bed and then Ian was leaning across him to fumble around and find it, stretched out over Mickey as he reached for it. Once he had it Mickey was fully expecting Ian to remove his fingers and the actual fucking to commence but Ian clearly had other plans. 

The redhead squirted a little lube onto the fingers still inside Mickey, the slickness of it making the slide easier as he changed the angle, brushed against Mickey’s prostate and had him arching up with a wrecked moan. His expression was somewhere between smug and awestruck and Mickey couldn’t help it, had to lean up and taste it, pressing his mouth to Ian’s. They kissed, sloppy and a little desperate and full of teeth. Mickey thought it was fucking _perfect_. 

Ian kept kissing him, even as he removed his fingers, the action making Mickey whine into it, and even when he lined up and slid into Mickey. He went slow, making shallow little thrusts that eased him in centimeters at a time and Mickey thought it was fucking unbearable. “I’m not gonna fuckin break, jesus.” He bitched, mouth still against Ian’s. He hooked his legs around Ian, pressed his heels into the taller boy’s ass and pulled him forward until his hips were flush against Mickey’s ass and _fuck_ , Mickey didn’t think he’d ever felt this full. He hated to admit it, but it fucking hurt. 

Fuck, Ian was right, his dick was definitely bigger than his fingers. 

Ian seemed to notice how still Mickey had gone, the way his spine was held in a tight line and his thighs shook. “You okay?” He asked and his eyes were wide and concerned as they took Mickey in and fuck, Mickey was totally gone for this kid that looked at him like he’d do anything to make sure he was okay. “We can-“ 

“If you say we can stop I’m gonna punch you in the fucking kidney. Just move, I’ll be okay. It’s already starting to feel better. I just gotta adjust to this shit.” He said, rocking his hips a little to try and get Ian to take his cue. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_. Okay.” Ian muttered, rolling his hips, but not pulling back, keeping his thrusts short and slow and seeming intent on that until he was entirely sure Mickey was okay. It wasn’t until Mickey seemed to relax, pushing back and meeting Ian’s tiny thrusts that he seemed to break. “Fuck. Can I- I need to-“ 

“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck me Gallagher.” And just like that Ian was pulling back before slamming back in and fuck, yeah, Mickey was definitely enjoying himself now, especially as Ian kept up the brutal pace he’d just started. 

It was fast, and rough and Mickey was pretty sure he was leaving bruises and scratches where his fingers scrabbled against Ian’s skin, finding purchase against his back before scratching down over his shoulders and chest. Ian’s hands were a vice over Mickey’s hips, squeezing hard and the pleasure-pain combination as he fucked him, changed the angle slightly so that he was nailing Mickey’s prostate had Mickey seeing stars. 

Mickey was pretty sure he was making some fucking _obscene_ noises, but he didn’t even care, not when they seemed to spur Ian on even more, had him hooking Mickey’s legs over his shoulders and fucking him even harder. It was pretty damn perfect, and then Ian wriggled a hand between them, wrapping it around Mickey’s cock and fuck, Mickey couldn’t last more than a few strokes before he was coming all over himself. His whole body tensed as he came, tightening around Ian and then Ian was pounding into him, losing his rhythm as he followed Mickey over the edge. 

Mickey lost track of everything as he came down from his orgasm, because when he finally opened his eyes (fuck, when had he closed them?) Ian was coming back into the room with a wet rag and wiping Mickey’s stomach down. 

“Fuck off, I can clean myself up.” He mumbled, but didn’t make any move to take the rag or stop Ian. His limbs felt like jelly, and he wasn’t entirely sure he _could_ take the rag from Ian, even if he wanted to. 

“Didn’t say you couldn’t.” Ian said with a shrug, pushing at Mickey until he was rolled over onto his stomach and Ian could continue his little caretaker schtick there. It was surprisingly gentle, at least when compared to how rough the actual fucking had been, but Ian swept the cloth over Mickey’s back, using long strokes and then he turned his focus to his ass, wiping over the cheeks and then between them. Finally, he seemed satisfied and threw the cloth somewhere to the side. 

“Done?” Mickey asked, turning his head to look at Ian over his shoulder. He meant to look annoyed, really, he did, but he couldn’t help how fucking fond he felt right then, and he was sure it showed. It was impossible not to though, not when Ian had this look on his face like Mickey had hung the stars just for him. 

“Yeah.” Ian said, grinning as he shifted Mickey and himself around until they were both laid out on the bed together, on their backs with their sides pressed together and one of Ian’s legs hooked over top one of Mickey’s. Like Ian knew that Mickey needed some physical points of contact, but that anything that could be construed as spooning or cuddling wasn’t going to be appreciated by the shorter boy. 

He was asleep within moments of them getting settled, and when he woke up a few hours later, it was to find they’d shifted in their sleep. Ian’s limbs were wrapped around Mickey, the taller boy on his side and clinging to Mickey like he was an oversized koala bear, but Mickey couldn’t even entirely blame Ian because his arms were wrapped tight around the redheads waist, his face smashed into Ian’s neck.

Mickey didn’t even contemplate moving, just closed his eyes again and went back to sleep, his senses filled with the smell of Ian’s throat under his nose and the feel of the bigger body warm around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun writing this one, and I don't hate it as much as I usually hate my stuff so I'm counting this chapter as a win! As always, THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO COMMENTS OR KUDOS OR BOOKMARKS. Ya'll are my life blood.


	7. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hate you.” Ian grumbled, though he seemed more awake now, though also intent on sliding a hand up Mickey’s shirt to press against pale skin.
> 
> “Well, that’s a lie right there.” 
> 
> “Unfortunately. I don’t know what I did to the universe to deserve this.” Ian said, pushing his face into Mickey’s throat and biting at the skin there. 
> 
>  
> 
> AKA the chapter of unmitigated fluff.

“Wake up assface.” 

Mickey grinned at Ian’s groan at Mickey’s words, and the way he was doing his best to curl into a ball away from Mickey’s shaking hands. 

“Noooo.” He whined, shoving his face further into the pillow and flailing a hand out weakly. 

“It’s wake up time. We’ve got a train to catch, man.” 

“Go on without me. I’m just gonna stay here, in my nice warm bed, drop out of school and become a bum. It’ll be fiiiine.” 

“And leave me to deal with Mandy moping because you’re not there to gossip with her about hot guys or whatever the hell it is you two do when I’m not around? I don’t think so firecrotch.” Mickey said, shaking his head at Ian as he jabbed his fingers into the spot between Ian’s ribs that he knew would have him squirming away, batting at Mickey’s hand before he latched on and dragged him into bed with him. 

“Hate you.” Ian grumbled, though he seemed more awake now, though also intent on sliding a hand up Mickey’s shirt to press against pale skin.

“Well, that’s a lie right there.” 

“Unfortunately. I don’t know what I did to the universe to deserve this.” Ian said, pushing his face into Mickey’s throat and biting at the skin there. 

“More lies. Alright, grumpy-face, up and at ‘em.” Mickey said as he extracted himself from Ian’s grip and dug around the mess of a bedroom floor to find relatively clean clothes to toss at Ian’s head. “Mandy was helping Debs with breakfast last I saw, so there should be food, albeit probably burnt food and a pissy Debbie because Mandy burnt the food, but still.” 

“Why did we decide to stay here the last few days before school starts? Instead of I dunno, your place where it’s _quiet?_ ” Ian asked, a little muffled by the t-shirt he was pulling on over his head. 

“I dunno, you’re the one that thought it was a great idea when Fiona brought it up. Don’t go blaming this on me.” Mickey said, cuffing the back of Ian’s head once it was free from the tangle of his shirt. “C’mon, I’m hungry as fuck and Mandy wasn’t letting me steal food until I got your ass out of bed. She almost stabbed me. Debbie looked scandalized.” 

“Yeah right, Debs has grown up in this house. She wasn’t scandalized.” Ian said, calling Mickey’s bullshit easily. 

Mickey grinned despite himself and reached out to grab onto Ian’s wrist, tugging him towards the door. “C’mooon.” He said, finally getting Ian moving and down the stairs to the kitchen. He swooped past Mandy and to the table, snagging a piece of toast off of the plate she was working on as he passed and ducking a smack to the back of his head. 

Mickey shot her a wounded look when she stepped aside to _let_ Ian steal a piece. “Traitor.” He grumbled around a bite of toast, swiping his hand over his mouth to brush away crumbs. 

“Yep. Ian’s nicer to me. He’s my brother now. I traded you in for a newer, better model.” Mandy said with a grin, ignoring Mickey’s raised middle finger in response to dish herself up a plate and settle into a chair. 

Everything seemed to devolve into noise after that. It was pretty par for the course, Mickey had learned, but it seemed extra loud that day. Fiona was like a whirl wind, barking out something what seemed like every five minutes, whether it was a “no knives at the table Carl!” or a “Did you get all your books Debbie?” She was kind of incredible, Mickey had to admit, especially when she placed two fingers between her lips and whistled. 

“Alright Gallaghers and Milkoviches, time to get this show on the road. Train leaves in an hour, and you need to be on it.” She said, and then like another whirl wind, or a fucking _hurricane_ she was getting them ready and off to Kings Cross Station. 

*******************************

An hour and ten minutes later Mickey was in a compartment with Ian. They’d nearly been late, Fiona had had to grab Carl and drag him bodily so that his hand was on the portkey that her friend in the ministry had managed to get for them so they didn’t all have to pile on a bus, and Mickey had complained for nearly five minutes about the taste the damn things left in his mouth. Ian swore up and down that they couldn’t possibly leave a taste in his mouth, but Mickey was fucking _adamant_ that they did. 

Nonetheless, they were on the way, and Ian was sprawled out across the bench seat, his head in Mickey’s lap as the train rolled towards their destination. Mickey’s fingers carded through ginger locks as he enjoyed the relative silence after the commotion of the Gallaghers, and Ian seemed to be accepting of it, though Mickey knew that wouldn’t last for long. Ian _had_ to talk sometimes. There could be easy silence sometimes, but for the most part, talking seemed to be Ian’s default. 

He was proven right when Ian spoke up after another ten minutes. “Is shit gonna change when we’re back?” He asked, and Mickey could hear nervousness there, was confused by the sound of it. 

“Shit like what?” He asked, flicking Ian gently in the forehead before he smoothed a finger over the spot. 

“Us? I dunno, it’s been nice this summer. Whatever we’ve been doing, it’s been good, right? I’m not the only one that thinks it’s been good, right? I don’t want- I guess I just want it to stay nice. Like this.” He said finally, gesturing between the two of them with his hand. Mickey was always amazed at the way Ian could say whatever came into his head, whatever he felt. It was the kid’s super power, and Mickey envied it sometimes, because most the time he had so many layers between what he said and what he meant and what he _wanted_ to say. 

“Only thing that’s gonna change is we’ll be at school. Don’t freak out about this Gallagher. Whatever we’ve been doing, it’s been good. Shit’s not gonna change just cause the location’s changed.” Mickey said, unable to help but feel pleased at the way Ian seemed to relax and smile up at him. Mickey wasn’t as good with his feelings, with saying what he meant, and what he felt, but when he made the effort it seemed to always be enough for Ian.

It was surprising, and more than a little amazing. He shook himself out of the moment, tugged gently at Ian’s hair and said “Next year though, we’re skipping the Gallagher madhouse and coming here straight from my place.” 

His words made Ian smile even brighter and Mickey took it as an agreement. 

*************************************************

Almost a month into the school year Ian dragged Mickey to a corridor and started pacing. 

“What the fuck Red?” He asked, thoroughly confused because Ian didn’t look particularly distressed, just like he was serious concentrating as he walked back and forth. Ian just raised a hand, silently telling Mickey to wait until a door was popping up right where he’d been pacing in front of. Mickey did a double take, shifting forward to cautiously open the door. He’d been in the magical world for years now and this shit still baffled him. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Room of Requirement. Lip told me about it. He read about it or something. I guess they used it back in the war, and Lip’s Lip, so he had to find it himself.” Ian said, shrugging as he nudged Mickey into the room. It was small, cozy, with a few overstuffed couches and chairs and bookshelves that were built into the walls. “You just think about what you want, and it gives it to you.” 

“So _this_ is what you came up with? This room can give you whatever the fuck you want and you wanted a few armchairs?” 

“Well, a bed seemed a little forward.” Ian said, shrugging and looking unashamed. 

“Cause you’ve ever had a problem with being forward before.” Mickey rolled his eyes, but he was pushing into Ian’s space, nudging him back until the backs of his legs were against the couch. Ian flopped back onto it, catching his hands around Mickey’s hips so that he could drag him down with him. 

“You have to admit, this is at least better than where we’ve been making out for the past month.” Ian pointed out, and Mickey could hear the way Ian was hopeful for Mickey to agree, his eyes focusing on Mickey’s expression even though there was no denying it, not really. They’d been relegated to ducking into abandoned corridors and corners and unused parts of the library for the past few weeks since they’d gotten back, and Mickey really did like the idea of doing something with Ian on proper furniture again. 

“Way better than an uneven edge of a stone wall jabbing into my ass, I’ll give you that.” He said finally, settling on top of Ian, his legs on either side of Ian’s thighs. 

“I’ll give you something jabbing into your ass.” Ian waggled his eyebrows ridiculously and Mickey couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist the urge to laugh hard at the other boy and press his face into Ian’s shoulder. 

“I’m dating the world’s most ridiculous asshole.” He mumbled unthinkingly into Ian’s robes around his laughter, twisting his hands into the fabric. 

“You just said we’re dating.” And Mickey knew by the sound of Ian’s voice that he shouldn’t pull back to look at Ian’s face, because he’d be smiling so fucking fondly, with this awed little look on his face like Mickey just told him he’d found the cure to lycanthropy or some shit. “You, _Mickey Milkovich_ , just said we’re dating.” 

“Fuckin a Gallagher, don’t make this a moment. This isn’t a moment. We’re not having a moment here. I refuse to have sex with you for like a month if you make this into a fucking _moment_ , okay?” 

Mickey didn’t want this to be a big thing and he knew if he didn’t nip it in the bud then Ian would make it big. He’d get all touched, and awe struck, and look at Mickey like he hung the moon like he was looking at him now. Dating wasn’t some big deal, and it wasn’t like it wasn’t obvious that that was what they were doing. Mickey let Ian hold his hand without punching him, he made out with him, Ian had taken Mickey’s fucking virginity for god’s sake. (Though that was entirely dependent on what you considered virginity. Ian might not have been the first person Mickey had fooled around with, but the first one to stick his dick up Mickey’s ass? Damn right, Ian was the first to climb that particular mountain.)

“I’m not making it a moment! I swear, it’s not a moment.” Ian said, though he was still staring at Mickey with that awed expression and it was making Mickey uncomfortable. “I just- I dunno, you’ve never said that before. I kinda thought I’d have to convince you to label it or whatever.” 

“Ian, I haven’t spent more than a day without seeing your dumb face in months. I’m not against a label. I’m still not sure why there’s gotta be one sometimes, but we got a label, it’s fucking ‘together’, and you don’t have to convince me to admit to that shit.” The more Mickey spoke, the worse the expression on Ian’s face became, until he was surging forward to capture Mickey’s mouth with his own.

“You made it a fuckin moment, Gallagher.” Mickey grumbled into the kiss, before he was focused on kissing Ian back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after some serious deliberation I've decided that so far this is the end of this fic. There will probably be a sequel at some point, because I don't think this is the end of this story quite yet. For now though, my Shameless muse is more or less gone and this is at a point where I feel comfortable calling it complete. To everyone that's read this, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!


End file.
